Legend
by Zyphon
Summary: A Gods Will Be Watching Fan-Fiction. Sgt. Abraham Burden and his platoon have been left to die on the desert planet of Legin. All hope is lost, until a Legend finds them, and makes the sacrifices necessary to save most of them.
1. Part One

**Legend**

By Lucas Albertson

Part One

The sun beat down on them, relentless. Sand beneath their feet, it only got hotter. The only reprise they had was when the sandstorms came, blocked out the sun, gave everything a chance to cool down, if only for a few hours. Just a few fucking hours.

At that point, it may as well not even matter. They didn't get to fucking appreciate that it was cooling down a little, because the sand was cutting into their skin, their eyes, though their uniforms. They didn't find shelter, and they were lost, cut up and bleeding. Then it was done, and they were alone, left to burn up in the sun. It kept getting hotter and hotter. No fucking end.

Sergeant Abraham Burden and his platoon had been deployed to this desert fucking wasteland of a planet about two weeks ago. Fighting for the Constellar Federation, their job was the take down rebels rising up all around Legin. Some working for or with Xenolifer, others fighting for their own causes, and some of them nothing more than glorified bandits, killing for fun.

One of them, Corporal Jack Maslow had been born on Legin. He was one tough sonuvabitch, and the men were trying to follow his example. But Maslow had been on Legin during a time of relative peace. Now, they had to fight over water, ammo, food. Running from one miserable rock to the next, over the sand, under two suns, keeping the planet heating up with no break. Fighting a war they couldn't win. Even for him, it was a challenge.

They'd lost so many already, and being out here… It was hard to tell them from the rebels they were fighting. Their white uniforms now dusty, covered in sand and dirt, using any rags they could find to try and keep the sun off of them. Almost now weapons, and even less ammo. They weren't soldiers anymore, and they sure as fuck weren't survivors.

They were just holding on, as tightly as they could, to that last thread. The single thread that could be gone in an instant. If they ran out of water, if the enemy found them, a sandstorm comes and there's no shelter. No rest for them.

Burden looked up. For the past hour almost he'd been turning his own dog tag over and over again in his hand, the sun reflecting and glinting off of it. He sat in the shade of a rock, leaning up against him, the others doing the same.

Jack was on watch with Sam, wearing those stupid googles. Bright purple. Burden wasn't even sure if they had a use or what. Finally, he got up, decided to see how things were going.

Dr. Todd was sitting down in the sand, still within shade of the rock that had been keeping them safe form the glaring sun for the past few hours. A bag of medicine next to him, he was drawing out a map of sorts in the sand. Even in the shade, the sand was still almost burning, Burden wasn't sure how the doctor was able to stand it.

"Doctor," he said gruffly, standing over him.

Dr. Todd looked up from his map, "Abraham, do you need something?" They'd abandoned the proper titles and ranks a few days ago. Didn't seem important anymore.

"You've been keeping an inventory, on how much food and water we have?"

"Yes," the doctor replied, scratching his beard, "that I have."

Burden looked around. The men weren't doing so good. It'd been a while since he'd last given out any rations of water. "How long do you think we can stay here, before we need to go looking for more?"

The doctor started rummaging around in his bag for something. Finally, he pulled out a notebook, and flipped through it. Trying to clear the grim from his glasses, but only managing to spread it around even more, he was silent for a few moments, reading what the count was.

"The men will need water soon, and by then, we won't have enough for all of them. My answer would be…" he looked up from the notebook, his eyes meeting the sergeants. "As soon as possible."

"Damnit…" Burden wandered off, leaving the doctor. He stood at the edge of the shade, staring out into the endless desert. It went on for so long, you couldn't see a damn thing. All flat. Just sand… rocks… dirt… How could there be any life here? Why did the Federation have such a hard-on for this miserable piece of shit? Why sacrifice so many men, all for nothing?

"There's not a damn thing here…" He said to himself.

He didn't know how long he stood there like that for. Eventually, Maslow and Sam were relieved from watch duty by Rasmus and Greyshock, and Burden just kept standing there. His feet planted in the sand. A burning wind blew, and he didn't move. Sand blew up against him gently. Like warm droplets of water, if only they weren't cutting into his face. The sand began to build up around his feet.

At one point, he was certain that someone was trying to talk to him. Put a hand on his shoulder, but he just shrugged them off. Fucking Legin. Confederation. Rebels. Fuck them all.

It was timeless there. Later, he found out he'd only been standing there for an hour. It felt like an eternity. Then he saw it. On the horizon, a figure. He waited, and finally saw it. A white uniform, one of them. It had to be Starleech. Burden had sent him out to go scouting almost 4 hours ago, he was finally making his way back.

It was another ten minutes before he made it to this rock. The small bit of shade in a sea of sun. Burden went out to meet him. Walking out of the shade, he could feel the full force of the sun's dry heat on him, waiting for him to burn, but he was used to it by now. That small bit of him that kept resisting, it wouldn't give up.

"Sir!" Starleech wasn't looking great. He'd found a rag that was barely anything but sand now, and had it wrapped around his head. "I'm sorry it was so long… I found an enemy camp… Heh, I barely made it out of there."

Burden walked with him back to the camp now. Others were up, awaiting the news. "That's fine, ya did fine, Starleech. That camp will have water, ammunition. Maybe we can contact the federation from there.

They were back in the shade of the rock formation. He gave Starleech a pat on the back. "Todd, give Starleech some water, he's earned it. Rest of you, rest up. We're leaving ASAP, and get ready for a fight."

The camp looked well defended, a wooden structure, and a tower nearby was all the cover there. Two men stood guard, but there were probably more inside the building, and maybe one in the tower. They didn't have much ammo left, so they'd have to make this quick.

Abraham had elected himself to lead the charge, along with Jack and Sam, the two best soldiers there. Out in the sun, all three of them were having trouble thinking, but they had one thing going for them. The element of surprise.

"Okay, so here's the plan," Abraham kept his voice down. Sound travelled across this fucking desert. "Jack, you go in, take out those two guards. Sam keeps whoever's in that tower pinned down. I'll go in the building, clear it out. There aren't that many of them, and they can't be doing any better than us for ammo. They won't see us coming"

"Sounds like a solid plan," Jack agreed, nodding his head, keeping his rifle close to him.

"Alright, let's go then."

Jack stood up fully, exposing himself, and kept his rifle at the ready. There was no cover, aside from the one dune that they'd be crouching behind. Before they could notice, he took aim, and fired, asking them down quick and clean, blood shining and glittering in the sun as the hot blasts tore through them, ripping holes in their internal organs.

Sam fired at the tower in bursts, as Abraham grabbed his gun, he could feel it's weight in his weakened hands, and made a run for the camp.

They weren't that far away, and he crossed the distance, form the tower, he heard a few shots, kicking up sand behind him, but Sam was keeping the bastard pinned.

Abraham brought his foot up once he made it to the door, and kicked towards the door. It flew open, revealing two men with guns inside the building, one taking cover behind a box of ammo.

Abraham pointed the gun forward, towards one, and fired a singular time, knowing that the blast would meet it's mark. He calmly moved his arms to the left, the gun an extension of his limbs, and in the most natural form, fired again, killing the other rebel as a blast of energy tore through his skull, erasing any fragment of the man he was. Burden had been a soldier for the federation for so many long years now, this was the most natural thing in the world for him.

Then, something unfamiliar. A small, _plop_, as something feel from above and buried itself into the sand nearby. He didn't even have a second to process it before fire rained through the room, the force knocking him back, burning him, and leaving him broken in the sand.

His eyelids heavy as he stared up into the empty sky, something was missing form him. The world he saw was different. He blinked slowly, feeling a new sort of warmth on his face, his leg.

And then the world went dark, and he stopped thinking. Damn, it was nice to finally rest…


	2. Part Two

Part Two

Pain. Waking up, Abraham could feel one thing. Pain. Overwhelming, coursing through his body, aggravated by the heat and the gritty sand. Pain. He welcomed it. He welcomed that one, overwhelming feeling of pain, that within the first few seconds of him waking up became the one thing he knew, and he was almost certain that from now on it would be the only thing he would know. He welcomed it because it carried a singular message. That he was alive.

He slowly opened his eyes, feeling heavy and slow, his version was blurred, but it soon returned to him. He was staring up at a wooden roof, built in a big hurry, gaps between the boards, letting shafts of that burning sun through. He was near the wall, and right now, still in relative shade. It still felt hot though. It was never really cool on this damn planet. Not for a second.

Something was wrong, there was a blind spot in his vision. Slowly, he lifted his arm up. It hurt, but he'd dealt with pain before. This wasn't the worst. He felt around on his face, bandages over his eye, now dry, but he could tell that they were stained with blood.

He tried to lift his head up. Moving around now, it was easier to deal with the pain. It was going away. He looked down, and saw something missing. His leg, now only a throbbing phantom pain left in its place.

He'd been burned, battered, and mutilated. He'd seen so many men die on this planet, and he'd felt sorry for them. They never be able to go home to see their families again. But this… this was worse. He'd never make it off this hell, and now, he'd be forced to suffer through the last few hours or days that he had left. Why couldn't they have just left him there?

Then he heard a voice, Dr. Todd. "Sir! You're awake. It wasn't looking good there for a while  
Abraham."

Slowly, he picked himself up from the cot. Pain still coursing through his body, but it was fading. Just that initial pain from waking up, it was left only to a slow, steady throbbing where his eye and leg used to be. Now sitting up, and turned to face the doctor. He looked so happy, as if this was something good. "It's still not," he replied, turning his gaze to the ground. Still just sand, the rebels hadn't bothered to put in a floor.

Dr. Todd looked confused, adjusting his glasses, dirty and cracked, he asked Abraham, "What do you mean, sir? You're alive, aren't you?"

"Yeah, but what good is that gonna do me? There's no way I'm making it out of here…"

Another voice spoke up, "Don't be too sure about that Abraham." Jack walked into the base form outside. He didn't seem all that surprised that Burden was awake. "A scout found us, Private Nil Galas. We've got orders from the Federation. Full retreat, we may just make it out of here after all."

Abraham met the dark-skinned man's gaze. He could tell that wasn't all. He didn't even have to say anything before Jack gave it up.

"But uh… Sandstorm hit about a day after we took this place. Broke the communicator. We only know that they're South-East of here. And we've got 170 hours before they leave."

There was silence between the three men for quite a while. The wind was picking up outside, and sand battered the side of the base, some sneaking through the cracks.

"Well," Abraham finally said, "Tell the men to get ready. We're leavin' here as soon as possible."

The sun continued beating down on the platoon as they made their way across the endless desert. Abraham was moving at a slower pace than the rest of them. They'd managed to find a thick piece of wood and cut it down to size for him to use as a crutch.

A hot breeze came through, blowing the cutting sand into their faces, but they continued to press on, they had no other choice. Moving South-West. How long would they be able to do this? Running out of water, no idea what was out there. And him, he was just slowing them down. Even with a goal now, he still felt no hope. He couldn't see himself making it out of here.

It was funny. He'd never really believed in the Federation's cause. And even to call it a cause… They were just greedy bastards. Going from planet to planet, enslaving any form of intelligent life. Claiming everything they found as their own. There was no nobility to it.

The rebels that they were fighting. Most of them just fought for the sake of fighting, wanting to see blood stain the sand of their miserable planet. But some of them, fighting with Xenolifer. They had a cause worth fighting for. Stopping the fucking Federation. Stopping slavery. Stopping their greedy claims to everything that they didn't deserve.

But they ought with terror. Bombs, bio-weapons. Attacking civilians to get what they wanted. No right side in all of this. There was Everdusk, a neutral party, but they were all just a bunch of fucking pussies. Never got anything done.

Walking through the endless desert, sure he was going to die, Abraham Burden thought back to his childhood on Gactus VII. A full supporter of the Federation, Gactus VII had more slaves than any other planet.

A huge target for Xenolifer. He remembered when they came down, slaughtering millions of people. A Full on assault after the Federation ignored their warnings, and continued the war against a new alien race. A new breed of animals to them, just more slave labor. The means to an end.

Everyone he knew, cut down by bullets. Blown away by bombs and fire. Even then, he wasn't out for revenge. He understood why. He hated their methods, and they needed to stop, that was it. Everdusk couldn't do anything, so he joined the Federation when he could.

He'd gone to so many places, fighting wars he didn't believe in. Furthering their cruelty. When he died, he had no doubts that he'd be going to hell. The gods would never accept a monster like him.

And now… This was his punishment, surely. He'd fought for so many things that he hated. Done things he was disgusted by. And now, he was going to die. Cut up by sand, nothing to quench his thirst, and burning away under the relentless sun of Legin. It was what he deserved.

Finally, they took a rest. A singular cactus full of water. Rasmus took a knife and cut it open, filling the small metal containers that they had dozens of with water. They didn't do much beyond keeping the water to a point where it wouldn't burn them going down their throats, but it was better than nothing.

"Romero!" He shouted, seeing the small man about to sit down in the sand. He stood up, facing Abraham.

"Sir?"

"I need you to explore further to the West while we rest here," Burden ordered, "We need to be ready if there are any more enemies patrols coming this way.

"Yes, sir," he said, grabbing his rifle and a water ration, then heading out into the desert on his own.

One Hundred and Fifty-Five hours. That was how much time they had left. Meanwhile, they had no clue where they were going, a limited supply of water, and they were being hunted down by rebels, making a full retreat from a war they couldn't possibly win. Gods help them, they were all fucked.

Finally, Burden stood up, with some effort. Supporting his weight with the makeshift crutch. He thought he saw something on the horizon, two figures… One was certainly Romero, but there was someone else next to him, a much taller man.

Eventually, they both made their way to the rest of the platoon.

"Sergeant Burden," Romero started, "I found him when I was scouting," referring to the man next to him, "he was in a crash. The stripes on his spacesuit indicate sergeant's ranking."

The strange man was very tall, wearing an orange and black Everdusk spacesuit. He had a hardened look to him, and his grey hair and beard were full of sand, meaning that he couldn't have just crashed.

"Does the communicator on your suit still work?" Abraham asked. If it did, then they may all be saved…

"It does," The sergeant replied in a deep, gravelly voice. To show this, he pressed a button on the small communicator on his wrist. It would already be tracking the signal from the Federation base. It glowed red faintly, giving off two little beeps. They were very far away.

"Well then," Abraham said, "It looks like we could use your help. We're currently in the middle of making a full retreat back to the Federation base on this planet. We have 155 hours to make it back there, and right now, that communicator is the only thing that's going to point us in the right direction.

"Given my current… condition," he said, nodding his head to his leg, "I'd gladly follow your lead, Sergeant…"

"Just Sergeant," he said.

Rasmus spoke up, "Abraham, are you fucking kidding!? We don't know this guy, and-"

Abraham cut him off, "Rasmus! Right now, we don't have any other option. And even out here, we still need to follow the chain of command."

The Sergeant scanned the horizon, already planning on how to get back to the Federation base. "We should travel during the day and rest at night, sleeping under the sun out here will kill us and-"

"Not going to happen," Maslow interrupted.

"Excuse me?"

"Legin has two suns," he explained, "It's always day time. But you're right, sleeping under the sun **will** kill us. The only way we're going to get any rest is by finding shelter, or an enemy camp."

Sam chimed in, "I'd listen to him if I were you. Jack was born here, he's one tough son of a bitch, and he knows what he's doing."

The Sergeant nodded, "All right then. Since we're at war, we'll need to send out scouts regularly to make sure we don't just wander into an enemy camp unprepared. The way west is already scouted, we'll travel that way for a while before making out next move."

He was already ready for this, and after a crash too… Who the fuck was this guy? As the Sergeant assigned everyone a role, and then had them start moving west, Abraham followed, one thought in his mind. _Thank the gods we found him…_


	3. Part Three

_**Part Three**_

Jack looked up to the sun. Both of them were up now, one setting, and the other rising. This was about as dark as it got on Legin. To the rest of them, there was no difference. But Jack had lived on this planet for half his life.

Most of the communities were underground, still, they struggled. For food. Water. Why the fuck did the Federation even want this place? No one could live here, not really, no money to be made, there weren't any resources aside from sand and rocks.

A shot blasted against the rock he was taking over behind, chipping a part of it off and sending it flying into the desert. Now wasn't really the time to be thinking about that. He lifted his rifle up, and without looking, quickly fired a few shots in the enemy's direction. They were both pinned down here, and at this point, they'd starve or die from the fuckin' heat before someone got the upper hand. Fuck…

Jack looked around to see if Sam and Rasmus were both okay. They'd been ambushed, making their way through a field of rocks. Starleech had spotted the patrol when he was scouting, and Jack had volunteered to take them out. They were in the way, and they might have water, ammunition, anything they could use.

Must have seen him, but waited 'till a larger group came by to ambush them. Fuckers.

Rasmus was close, and Jack could hear him talking to himself. Scared shitless. "Fuck. Fuck. No way are we gettin' out of this," quieter, "fuuuuuuuuuuuck."

"Dude, shut the fuck up," Sam hissed at him. His purple googles glinting in the sun. He turned his gaze to Jack, "What're we gonna do?"

They couldn't just fuckin' sit here, they had to do something, even if it meant taking risks.

"Rasmus, you lay down some covering fire, I'm gonna try and get closer, you ready?" He nodded, but with a clear lack of confidence.

"All right…" The suns still beating down on them, the dry heat made things incredibly clear. This fucking hellhole, how'd he get sent all the way back here just to die? He'd been fighting for so long, for so many different causes. The Federation wasn't always in the right, but they got shit done. And now he was back here, just fighting for nothing, ready to die like a dog the same place he'd suffered for half his life.

Well, everyone's got to die sometime, may as well go out fighting, even if it's for fuckin' nothing.

"**GO!**" He shouted, and heard the distant, yet loud hiss of plasma begin fired from a rifle as he moved as fast as he could to the next patch of rocks, trying to keep low all the while. Running, kicking up sand, he could feel the heat from the blasts going over him. A few came from the other side, but they were random, didn't want to poke their heads out to get a better view. A few hit the ground near him, kicking sand up into his eyes.

And then it was over, he made it. But it hadn't really gotten him anywhere. He was a little closer, big fuckin' deal, but hey, at least they'd done _something_.

"Good hustle," Jack heard a voice next to him and he looked over, Sam had followed him. Coulda gotten himself killed.

"Thanks," he replied. He carefully leaned out of cover, but couldn't see anything. Still hiding.

"So uh…." Jack ducked back into cover as Sam thought of what to say to him, "what now?"

"Actually…. I got nothin'." Jack thought back to when he'd first met Abraham. Back on Sicius, another one of the Federation's useless fuckin' conquests. Medusa virus got them when they were holed up in a cave, hiding from Xenolifer, who was fightin' them tooth and nail. Heh, at least they had a cause. Nil had been there too, his first actually battle. They each had their own reasons, and all of them were shit. Nil fought because it was a job, and he needed money for his family. Abraham fought to try and stop the terror and violencecaused by Xenolifer, but half the time he was on the edge of deserting, because he was just as disgusted with the Federation as he was with Xenolifer.

And then there was him. Corporal Jack Maslow, born on the desert planet of Legin. Known to just about everyone as, 'a tough sonuvabitch.' He fought because that was all he'd known, his entire life. The Federation wasn't a cause worth fighting by, and at that point, it really was just him fighting because that's just what he did. He fought. The Federation was strong, they needed soldiers, and so there he was.

Then the virus came, paralyzing them. Once that set in, they had about three days. Almost everyone but Nil, Abraham, and Jack himself had been infected, and even then, it was just a matter of time for the rest of them.

Any reasonable man would've just left the others for dead, because they only had a little bit of time left, too. Surely helping the rest would just be a fuckin' death sentence. But Abraham, even though he couldn't find a cause worth fighting for with the Federation, he found one there. Making sure that as few people died as possible.

It was the hardest thing he ever had to do, but by the end of it… All but two made it. Six of them had been infected, and Jack had been ready to leave **all** of them there, let all six die, but Abraham saved them, at least four of them.

At that point, he wasn't just some goon. Some fuckin' thug who just fought for the sake of fighting, he had a purpose, and that was a hell of a lot better than what he had before.

Now, they were there again, that same place, but this time, he really didn't think they were gonna make it. Back then, he didn't really do anything, it was Abraham, he made the decisions, the tough choices… Jack wasn't cut out for that, he just fucking wasn't…

And now, Abraham was crippled, wishing he was dead, and not doing a damn thing to help anybody. The man who had given him a purpose… You can only fight for so long before it all catches up to you, and Abraham had been fighting for a hell of a lot longer than Jack had.

More blasts from the other side, interrupting his train of that. None of it really mattered if they didn't make it out of here, of course.

Jack peeked his head over the rock he was taking cover behind, to see if there was anything else that they could maybe use. There was another patch, but it was too far away to do the same thing, he'd be hit for sure. Unless….

"Sam, I think we can get closer again," he said, ducking back into cover, "Rasmus will lay down more covering fire, you shot the ground near them, kick up a fuck ton of sand. They won't be able to see shit, I can get closer, there can't be that many of 'em, from there, I can take them out."

He adjusted his googles, "it's even riskier than before, you sure you want to be the one to go?"

"Yeah, I'm not letting anyone else die here, if someone's gotta take a risk, it's gonna be me."

"All right…"

Even if they all got out of this alive, what did that even mean? They wouldn't be alive for that much longer. These guys couldn't have that much water, ammo, anything. Probably even less than they did, and that wouldn't mean anything. The last time the sergeant checked, they were still fuckin' miles away from base. People were gonna die, that was certain. If any of them would even make it there… He didn't know. Maybe.

Jack shouted again, and started running. He kept his head down, but he could still see, huge clouds of dust and sand being kicked up into the air where they were, blasts coming from overhead, keeping the fuckers pinned down. Not a single shot fired from their side, and then he was there, right up next to them, but he didn't stop, he kept running, right into that cloud of dust and sand.

He'd been here before, and he knew what to do. He had the element of surprise, too, that didn't hurt. For them, it was chaos, couldn't see anything, couldn't breathe, but he kept calm, kept his mouth shut, lifted up his rifle, ready to fire.

Movement right to his left, two figures. Four blasts, two for each. He saw one go down, adjusted his aim, and then the other dropped. He turned right, and a blast from a pistol nearly took his head off. He fired, two quick bursts, and then they were down, bleeding out in the sand.

There was one more left, and he saw them, but through the sand, he could see, they were standing up, their hands in the air.

Finally, the dust and sand cleared, letting him see the silhouette who was surrendering. A young man, dark skin, scars all around his face, just like his own, form the sandstorms. Someone else born from the fuckin' hellhole.

"Don't move fucker!" He shouted, keeping his gun trained on him. He merely nodded in response, and without being told, kicked the weapon on the ground away from him. He was trying to do everything right not to be killed.

Rasmus and Sam came out of cover to see what was going on. "Hey, Jack, why's this piece of shit still alive, waste him already!" Of course that was Rasmus' view on it, always was.

"He surrendered," Jack said. He already knew where this was going to go.

"So? We let him go, and could go back to his camp, bring even more guys out of fucking nowhere to kill us all! You just gonna let that happen?"

"Dude, calm the fuck down!" It was Sam, shocked at Rasmus' reaction. He didn't know Rasmus before a couple months ago, and this was the first time he'd seen him this way. The way he always was, distrustful, cowardly… A good soldier, but a bad man.

"Please," the rebel said in a cracked voice, "I promise, I won't tell anyone. I don't belong to any camp. I'm not working with them, the men you fight, I'm on my own."

"Bullshit!"

Jack just ignored him, lowered his weapon a bit, he asked the man, "How can we trust you?"

"I… Please, I have a family, I just wish to return to them, I'm no part of this, this war," he was begging, and the desperation was clear.

"Jack," Rasmus started, "You let him go, you're putting us all at risk."

"What the fuck is your problem, man? It's not your decision anyway," Sam turned to Jack. "Hey, for what it's worth, I believe him."

It didn't take too long for Jack to come to a decision. One man wouldn't be a threat, and after al this… There was no need for any more death. He lowered his gun, "Go, and don't come back. Don't inform anyone of our position, you understand me?"

He smiled, and nodded, "Yes, yes I understand. Thank you, thank you so much."

He turned to leave, when his skull was torn open by plasma, melting his brains. A huge hole appeared in his head, the skin fried. Blood dripped as he took on step. Another, and then fell to the ground. Jack stared at the man's body for what seemed to be eternity, and here, in this place, it very well could have been. Blood stained the sand red, his face buried in it.

Slowly, Jack turned to see Rasmus, a smoking gun in his hand. Sam was shouting, but Jack couldn't hear him. All these times, whenever a decision had been made, even though Rasmus didn't like it, he always went through with it. But now, he had murdered a man. A man who was going home to see his family, a man who had only been fighting for what he believed in. Even on his own, just a small group of rebels, their cause was much more justified than their own.

Jack swung his fist, and hit Rasmus in the face, knocking him to the ground. He barely felt the impact. At this moment, it was just about delivering punishment. He came down on top of him, kness on his chest, and swung again with his other hand. Again and again, beating his face into the ground. That man wouldn't go home to see his family, and in the moment, it seemed to Jack that an eye for an eye was more than fair.

Eventually, Sam managed to pull him off of Rasmus, his face now bloodied and broken, sand burning in his wounds. Jack shrugged him off, but didn't go back to finish the job. Words had no value then. He turned, and walked back to join the others.


End file.
